<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Pumpkin Bread by throwupsparkles</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23228665">Pumpkin Bread</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/throwupsparkles/pseuds/throwupsparkles'>throwupsparkles</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>My Chemical Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Brotherly Love, Drug Addiction, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, guys this is NOT waycest</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:40:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,310</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23228665</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/throwupsparkles/pseuds/throwupsparkles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikey had been the first one to know that Gerard was too far gone. It was a hard line to walk. Mikey grew up following Gerard around everywhere, like his extra few years of life had given him the magic keys to the kingdom. He didn’t know what to do with the fact that Gerard had thrown the keys away and was trampling in the woods at dark.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pumpkin Bread</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gerard is still clutching his phone, knee bouncing anxiously when Mikey finally gets to his apartment. </p><p>
  <em> Help. </em>
</p><p>Was all Mikey’s text had said. Gerard had been <em> finally </em> cleaning his paintbrushes, a chore that he despised and usually took all morning since he let the brushes pile up under coats of paint. He could always hear his high school art teacher chastising him for ruining the bristles. I like them that way, he’d think as if he was still seventeen. </p><p>Gerard had called Mikey as soon as his name lit up on the screen, but Mikey put him to voicemail and wrote.</p><p>
  <em> On my way. </em>
</p><p>Gerard knew, he <em> knew </em> something was wrong. He couldn’t explain it anymore than he could explain how he could have a full conversation with Mikey only using glances and eyebrow raises. </p><p>Mikey lets himself in, using the third spare key that Gerard had given him. Mikey always loses things. He looks so small under the weight of his peacoat, scarf, and even his beanie makes him look like a kid. His kid brother. </p><p>He sort of just hovers by the closed door, and Gerard wants to get up and pull him in the rest of the way. But he doesn’t, somehow knowing that Mikey has to take those steps himself. He’s looking at the key in his shaky hand. A sob escapes his trembling lips and then he’s moving. And Gerard is moving. Planets rotate around each other until, crash, and there’s nothing but limbs tangling and Gerard is whispering, “It’s ok. You’re safe.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Mikey had been the first one to know that Gerard was too far gone. It was a hard line to walk. Mikey grew up following Gerard around everywhere, like his extra few years of life had given him the magic keys to the kingdom. He didn’t know what to do with the fact that Gerard had thrown the keys away and was trampling in the woods at dark. </p><p>Gerard had given Mikey his first beer and laughed at him when his face twisted into disgust. Mikey had just held his breath and chugged, Gerard’s eyes grew proud at his little brother as he took his hand and led him further into a party that was too old for him. Mikey puked the next morning, Gerard was still drunk and kept feeding him animal crackers until Mikey lulled back to sleep under the calm blue lights of the television. </p><p>They called them the chemical brothers, and Mikey liked that they were a pair of twisted molecules held together by alcohol. Mikey didn’t understand why everyone thought they were doing drugs. Mikey just drank until it felt that his liver was going to run away and abandon him. Then he saw his brother’s eyes one night. Pupils large and full of too much pent up energy. Mikey sat with him all night while Gerard coated canvas after canvas with paint and spouted illogical rants about what was going to happen after he died. </p><p>The worst nights were the ones that Gerard spent away from Mikey, leaving him to pace his basement wondering if Gerard was dead somewhere, choking on his own vomit. But he’d know. He would <em> know </em> if there was something wrong. He still could feel that tug on the rope in his mind, the gentle pull of someone else thinking. Sometimes, like those nights, the pull was frantic and erratic. Those nights when Gerard finally came home, Mikey would take his shoes off for him and push him on the bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin like if he tucked him into bed he’d be safe like a child. But Gerard wasn’t the child, he was. And it scared Mikey that his guide to the kingdom had gotten so lost that he was asking him for help.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Do you want some coffee?” Gerard asks.</p><p>Mikey shakes his head, his bleached hair sticking into Gerard’s nostrils. </p><p>Right. Gerard couldn’t drink caffeine the first months after he stopped coke, scared the added jolt would explode his heart. It took awhile for him to trust his body again, for him to trust <em> himself </em> with his body.</p><p>“Tea?” Gerard tries.</p><p>Mikey nods.</p><p>Gerard moves back just far enough to put a hand on Mikey’s shoulder and steer him to the couch. He coaxes him to sit and pulls the tattered mustard blanket off the back of the couch to wrap around Mikey’s too bony shoulders.  </p><p>Gerard goes into the kitchen and searches his cabinets for something soothing, finding a sachet of lavender tea from back when he was dating a philosophy major who listened to Enya all the time. It was a lonely time in his life. </p><p>He opens the fridge and cuts two slices of pumpkin bread, puts them on a plate and coats them in apple butter. He pushes the lever on his electric kettle, watching it turn red and spur the water to life. He braces his hands on either side of it, watching it like it’ll tell him what to say to his detoxing brother.</p><p>He closes his eyes. He had known. He tried to talk to Mikey about it a few times. Why he was losing weight. Why his hands were shaking. Why he talked too much and fast. Why he was always asking to borrow money. He knew the tell tale signs, but never got it out of him. Maybe it was because Gerard was trying to keep himself busy so that his own demons couldn’t find room in his brain to nestle. Maybe it was too triggering for Gerard to be around Mikey when he was speeding. Either way, it was Gerard’s fault that it went on this long. </p><p>Mikey was always the stronger one.</p><p>Of course he’d be the one to seek help. </p><p>The level switches off and Gerard pulls down a mug and fills it with the steaming water. He drops the tea bag in, dunking it a few times before picking up the mug and plate and walking back to Mikey. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Mikey would barg into Gerard’s apartment sometimes when his calls went unanswered for too long. He would find Gerard up and walking around the house in clothes that he saw him in weeks ago, his hair matted and his fingertips stained from ink and too many cigarettes. </p><p>Mikey would pull Gerard into the shower fully clothed, shoes slipping on the porcelain. He’d find the perfect temperature and point it to Gerard’s face, holding him under the cascading water until Gerard’s frantic rants dialed down to whispers then soft cries. </p><p>Gerard felt numb, but would wake back up under the spray. Would feel Mikey’s arms holding him down. Feel his jaw move against Gerard’s temple, but couldn’t hear him just yet. He’d be so fuzzy, moving too fast for this world. It couldn’t keep up and hold him here. Mikey’s arms and the familiar scent of <em> home </em> would slow him down, would bring him back and he’d hear, “Please don’t die.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Mikey sips on his tea, using both hands to cup the mug and wiggle his fingers like they were just waking up. Gerard supposes they were.</p><p>“How long?” Gerard asks softly.</p><p>“Was I using or how long have I been clean?”</p><p>Gerard frowns. “Both?”</p><p>Mikey keeps sipping his tea and Gerard knows the answer. Too long, and not long enough. </p><p>“Do you have stuff?” Gerard asks, “Where are your things?”</p><p>“At Ray’s still. I think. I haven’t been there in a few months, he might have thrown them out after I stopped paying rent.”</p><p>“He wouldn’t do that.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>Gerard pushes the plate of bread near Mikey. Mikey frowns, puts down his tea and picks up a slice, bringing it to his mouth and taking a bite. “Did you make this?”</p><p>Gerard scoffs. “No.”</p><p>“Boyfriend?”<br/>
He shakes his head. “I help this old lady on the top floor with her groceries on Sunday after she gets back from church.”</p><p>Mikey’s eyes widen a bit, but the curve of the corner of his mouth lightens Gerard’s heart. </p><p>“Apple butter?”</p><p>“Farmer’s market.”</p><p>“I hardly know you anymore,” he says lightly, but the words are heavy.</p><p>Gerard lights a cigarette and tries to hide his trembling hands. His mouth quivers, so he turns and takes a drag. He feels hopeless that the small man next to him feels like home and a stranger all at once.</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>Gerard turns.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Mikey says, and he means it. It’s not a pathetic apology that is fueled by drugs after your mind catches up to what you’ve done. It’s not an apology to just keep you around because you’re fuel to the addiction. Mikey’s eyes are tired, his lips are cracked, and his skin is too pale. </p><p>Gerard puts a hand around the back of his neck, thumb pushing on his pulse. Alive. </p><p>“I am too.”</p><p>They don’t talk much after that. Gerard puts on some late night cartoons on Cartoon Network and Mikey leans back on the couch so that his legs are rested in Gerard’s lap. Mikey is asleep before they get to the first commercial break. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Gerard didn’t realize he had a problem until he yelled at his boyfriend the next morning after a bender for doing the last of the coke. He never knew that kind of rage, the kind that made him blind and feel like his blood was boiling out of his skin. He had screamed and threw cups, “How could you be so selfish!” And in the end they ended up driving to a friends house so Gerard could get a bump. </p><p>The car ride home was quiet and Gerard’s mind was spinning, not just from the drugs.</p><p>When had he become this person?</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Mikey’s neck must be getting stiff from resting it against the arm of the couch, so Gerard slides out from under his legs and slips his arms under his knees and against his back. He winces at the prominent spine he feels. He carries Mikey into his room, the only real bedroom since the other two have turned into a mix of studio space and junk room. He lays him down and Mikey stirs a bit when Gerard is unlacing his shoes.</p><p>“I can take the couch,” Mikey murmurs.</p><p>Gerard shakes his head and puts his shoes by the nightstand. “Go back to sleep.”</p><p>Mikey’s eyes flutter shut.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The worst night was when Gerard had called Mikey.</p><p>“I feel like someone is pulling my hair back and trying to restart my brain,” Gerard slurred.</p><p>Mikey pushed his fist in his mouth to keep from sobbing, then said as calmly as he could, “How much have you done?”</p><p>“All day,” he had answered.</p><p>“Where are you?”</p><p>“Kansas?” Gerard asked, “There’s a small dog. Like Toto.”</p><p>Mikey had gotten on his computer and started typing into google. “What else? Are you at a bar? Someone’s house?”</p><p>“Bar. It’s bright. I didn’t think you could bring a dog into a bar.”<br/>
“Might be a service animal.”</p><p>“Can you get one of those to just, hug? Because I need hugs.”</p><p>Mikey’s heart brook. “What else, Gerard?” He whispered.</p><p>“60s vibes. Marylin is on the wall.”</p><p>Mikey typed. “New York or Jersey?”</p><p>“New York. I haven’t been to Jersey in…”</p><p>Yeah, Mikey knew. He hadn’t seen his brother in months. Hadn’t talked to him in weeks. He just kept feeling the rope, tugged it just to make sure someone on the other end pulled back.</p><p>Still here.</p><p>“Is there a menu? A sign, cocktail napkin?”</p><p>There was a pause then, “Johnny Hams.”</p><p>“Awful name.”</p><p>Gerard hummed in agreement.</p><p>“Be there in about...thirty five mintues,” Mikey promised, “Stay there.”</p><p>Gerard hung up and Mikey ran to the station. He sat on the hard plastic seat, knee bouncing as he kept tugging on the rope. </p><p>Still here.</p><p>He found Gerard in the bathroom, sitting in a stall, his head against the tiles. </p><p>Mikey sat next to him and placed a hand on his knee. “Ready to go home.”</p><p>Gerard lulled his head towards him, eyes wide but dead and a grim smile stretching his lip. “There’s no place like home.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Gerard isn’t surprised that it takes Mikey until two in the afternoon to wake up. When he does, he’s quiet and comes to sit at the breakfast bar where Gerard is filling a cup of coffee. He turns and flicks on the kettle. </p><p>“Sleep well?”</p><p>Mikey nods.</p><p>“Call mom?”</p><p>He shakes his head.</p><p>“This evening?”</p><p>He shrugs.</p><p>Gerard hums and goes to the fridge to cut more pumpkin bread.</p><p>“I never thanked you,” Gerard breathes as he cuts into the loaf.</p><p>“Now’s your chance.”</p><p>Gerard’s vision goes blurry and he has to put down the bread knife and wipe at his eyes. He’s spiraling into self loathing. Hating himself for not knowing what to do here when Mikey knew exactly what to do to fix Gerard. He knew what he needed. Had pulled him out of that bar bathroom and locked him into his home until he forgot what the drip tasted like. Had kept him away from bottles of clear liquid that burned away his insecurities. Had changed the sheets over and over after Gerard sweated through the night, crying out at demons. Battle cries some nights, sobs and pleas other nights. Mikey sat in the arm chair in the corner of the room, watching. Tugging even though he could see Gerard.<br/>
Still here. </p><p>Mikey’s arms come around Gerard now. “Not your fault,” he whispers, pressing his lips into his hair. </p><p>Gerard held him close for a moment, pressing his face in his neck and breathing in the scent of home. He’s felt so lost for months, pulling on that rope just to get a weak shift at the other end. He closes his eyes and tugs.</p><p>Mikey pulls.</p><p>Still here.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Literally got out of bed at 5:30AM this morning to get this out. I've been working on this fic in the back of my head for a bit, and this morning it all just clicked together.</p><p>Hug your brother.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>